“Not like a nice feather bed, eh?”
“Indeed no.”
“Be better when we get to the house. We’ll make you comfortable there. That’s what I aim to do, Annie.”
“My name is Annora,” I said.
“Very classy. I like Annie. It’s more friendly.”
“I do not like it.”
“Never mind, Annie. You’ll get used to it.”
I heard my father’s voice. “Anything wrong?”
“No, no.” Gregory was getting to his feet. “Thought I heard something prowling. Dingo, I reckon. They get a bit bold at night.”
“It’ll soon be time for getting up,” said my mother.
“A couple of hours yet,” replied Gregory.
I watched him move away and I lay there, my body trembling. There was something about his manner which filled me with apprehension.
We were ready to continue the journey at dawn. The day seemed very like the previous one, the country more or less the same, too. The land was dry and when we came to a creek Gregory looked at it anxiously to see how much water there was.
He said: “The greatest curse of this land is drought. Give us rain … just a little of what you get in the Old Country and I can tell you this would then be God’s Own Country.”
He was quite informative as we rode along, telling us how he had come out as a boy and fallen in love with the place right away.
“It grows on you, takes a grip of you. It may be that some of you will be affected in this same way,” he warned.
Just as the sun was beginning to fall before the horizon we arrived at our destination. It was bigger than I had imagined—a rather long low house of one storey. There were several buildings round it which looked like outhouses. We had ridden a long way without seeing any sign of habitation, so I imagined we were fairly isolated.
Jacco came running out of the house.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t make it before sundown,” he said.
He looked different. He wore no coat and his shirt was open at the neck; his face was bronzed; the country was already changing him.
“It’s lovely to see you, Jacco,” cried my mother. “How are you?”
“Fine, fine. I’ve had a great time. Come on in. Hello, Greg. Good to see you.”
Gregory leaped down. “Where’s everyone? They ought to be here. The ladies are exhausted. Maud got anything good brewing?”
“She has,” said Jacco.
Several people were coming towards us … men in buckskin trousers and open-necked shirts.
Jacco said authoritatively: “Wally, see to the horses.”
A woman came to the door of the house. She stood under the porch watching us. She was tall and rather plump, Junoesque in fact. She had abundant dark hair which, piled up on her head, made her look even taller than she actually was.
A young girl whom I judged to be about fifteen came out and stood beside her.
“This is Maud,” said Jacco to me. “She’s a wonderful cook. And Rosa … that’s her little girl.”
Gregory said: “Let’s get in. Introductions can be made in the morning. What we want now is food and a bed.”
There was a big room which was a kind of living room and another of the same size which was a kitchen. The rest were bedrooms—five of them, apart from one room which was an office. Several oil lamps were burning in the living room and places were laid at a long wooden table.
There were steaks and hot bread called dampers, with tankards of ale; and Maud and the young girl waited on us.
I was too tired that night to take in my new surroundings. All I wanted was to sleep.
My dreams were jumbled. I was at the Midsummer bonfire and Rolf was there. He stepped out of his robe and he had horns on his head and cloven feet. Then he changed into Gregory and Joe was there saying, “I had to do it, I had to do it.” Then I was alone right out in the scrub and Rolf was coming towards me. Then it was not Rolf but Gregory.
It was a nightmare and I was glad to wake from it.
I was soon asleep again and when I awoke it was to find the sun streaming into my bedroom and what had awakened me was a jeering laugh which was immediately followed by another.
I sat up in bed. Then I remembered. This was the kookaburra, the laughing jackass, of which Gregory had told us. It was the first of many times I was to hear it. But it seemed appropriate that it should awaken me on my first morning here.
The days were full of new experiences. I seemed to learn such a lot in a short time. Jacco was a mine of information. He had the advantage of having been in the outback much longer and he had eagerly absorbed everything with a fervent admiration.
He accompanied us round the property—Gregory was with us of course. We met the men who were working there. The place was apparently so large that it took several days to ride round it so of course we could only see a fraction of it. We were, as they said, “in sheep and cattle” and some of these grazed some miles away. There was one man, a jackeroo, who spent his time riding round the property, just to make sure animals were getting the attention they needed and that fences were kept in good repair.
The men lived in the rather roughly constructed shacks dotted about the place. Some had wives and children, all of whom worked in some capacity on the property. Their attitude amused me. They were in some awe of my father as the owner of the land but at the same time they regarded him with a certain contempt because of his manners and his cultured form of speech. He was an English gentleman—a breed which was not greatly admired in this part of the world. I heard one of them tell Jacco that in time he would grow into a fair dinkum Aussie, which I supposed was just about the highest compliment they could pay an Englishman. It was clear to me that Matthew was utterly despised. He was not practical; he was a dreamer, an idealist—something which there was no call for in this part of the world. As for my mother, Helena and myself, we were women, and by nature of our sex, second-class beings, suitable for one purpose only—to serve their needs in all directions.
I was most interested in Maud who, in spite of the fact that she was a woman, could keep them in order. I think they applied a special judgement to Maud. She cooked in the great kitchen where, regardless of the heat, there always seemed to be a fire going with pots on it, simmering away.
She was the widow of one of the men—a man for whom they had had the greatest respect—who had come out originally to have his own farm, and this he had done; but it had been destroyed by a forest fire and he had been left with nothing, and a wife and small daughter to keep. He had found work at Cadorsons and had proved, as Gregory said, a good right-hand man. Unfortunately he had suffered from a chest complaint which was the reason why he had come to Australia in the first place. But the climate could not save him and he had died. Maud was left with ten-year-old Rosa. That was five years ago. I thought she was a fine woman. She hated the coarseness of the men and often chided them for their habits. She guarded Rosa like a dragon and I soon began to understand why; Rosa was young and pretty and there was a scarcity of women on the property; men regarded Rosa with lustful longing.
Maud had taught Rosa to read fluently and write well. She wanted the best for Rosa.
My mother was very sympathetic and when we were all together she talked about the possibility of sending Rosa to school. My father said we should wait awhile before suggesting anything impulsively. What we needed first of all was a good midwife for Helena. That should be our primary consideration.
“There is another matter,” he said. “I think Greg is after buying the property. He’s the sort of man who wants to be in complete control.”
“He is that already it seems to me,” said my mother.
“He wants to be known as the master. It’s understandable.”